


Links to the Past

by KathyRoland



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyRoland/pseuds/KathyRoland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is dying.  John stays with her through the end.  Sherlock stays with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Links to the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Discussion of drug abuse, implications of child abuse. Character death. Extreme lack of happiness in this story.

Sherlock was absorbed in his latest experiment when Mycroft swept into his flat.

Not looking up he preempted his brother, “Busy. Not interested.”

His brother sighed. “Even for Dr. Watson?” he asked archly.

Pausing, Sherlock raised his eyes to look at his brother as he quirked his eyebrow.

“He’s off visiting his sister in the hospital.” He stated shortly. “But then, you already knew that.”

His brother made a moue of distaste. “His sister is dying.”

“Yes, liver failure will do that,” Sherlock said shortly.

“Why are you not with him?”

Sherlock sniffed. “He obviously didn’t want me with him. We all know I don’t do well with…” his lips curled up in displeasure “emotions.”

“Dr. Watson is going through a difficult time,” Mycroft admonished. “He has supported you, allowed you to rely on him in the past. Perhaps it is the time to support him in turn?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Why are you here? Why do you want me to go to John?”

Mycroft’s facial expression didn’t change from his usual bland mask, but his right hand tightened minutely on his umbrella.

“Dr. Watson has done me an invaluable service,” he said. “He has protected you, killed for you, and cared for you. He has done all that quite selflessly. Right now, he needs you. His last link to a rather… troubled, distasteful past is dying. He needs to be reminded that he has links to the present, and he could do with some kindness right now.”

Sherlock gazed at his brother, evaluating. “What do you know?” he demanded.

Mycroft simply leveled a look at Sherlock and turned to leave.

 

Not long after the conversation with his brother, Sherlock found himself stepping silently into the room of a dying alcoholic and her brother. Neither noticed him.

Harry was hooked up to machines and drips and appeared to be quite small against the sheets. Her skin was tinged yellow and was paper thin in places. Her eyes were bloodshot and glossy.

“Hurts, Johnny.” She was saying. “God, it hurts. Get me a drink, would you?”

John was looking pale and wan himself. He was hunched over in a chair next to her bed, holding her hand. He had not shaved nor showered in the last two days, and he looked exhausted.

“No drinks to be had, sis.” He said simply, with an air of someone who was endlessly repeating himself.

“What about some wash?” Harry muttered. “This is a nice posh place. Should be some mouthwash around here.”

“Would you like me to get a nurse to get you some more painkillers?” John asked.

“Bloody nurses. Can’t do a damned thing. Just left me here to die. Like mum, yeah?”

John didn’t reply.

Harry’s gaze traveled to the door and spotted Sherlock.

“Who the hell are you?” She demanded.

John looked up and saw Sherlock. Sherlock couldn’t decide what the expression on John’s face was. Surprise? Shame? Discontent? It shifted quickly.

“Sherlock.” He murmured. “What are you doing here? I can’t spare time to go on a case right now.”

“No case.” Sherlock replied. “I thought I would…” here he had to stop. What was he doing here? He waved his hand distractedly.

John smiled at him. “Thanks, Sherlock.” His attention shifted to the bed and his sister. “Harry, this is Sherlock, my flat mate I was telling you about.”

Harry was eyeing him. She sniffed. “Got anything to drink on ya?” She demanded. “This bloody place wants me to be teetotal.”

Sherlock shook his head silently.

“What good are you then?” Harry snarled. “Bloody teetotal, I tell you!” She crackled a crones laugh.

John looked over at him in mute apology. Sherlock nodded silently at him.

John gestured to a second chair behind him. “Feel free to pull up a seat.”

Harry seemed to have forgotten Sherlock already. “Why’re you here, Johnny-boy?” She grumbled. “I won’t be your fucking patient. Don’t care that you’re all high and mighty and doctoring stuff now. I can’t be saved anymore.”

John squeezed her hand and reached over to run a hand through her hair. “I’m not here as a doctor. I’m here as a brother.”

Harry was getting agitated. “What for?” She demanded. “I was never a good sister. God knows I never was there for you when you were getting the shit beat out of you at home.”

John froze for a second. “That was never your fault, Harry. You were a child.”

“So were you.” Her mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “Everyone was a child. Even mum. Couldn’t look beyond the next fix, she couldn’t. Never wanted to be like her. Never took a needle of drugs in my life, and still ended up like her. Dying in the hospital, alone and broken. Drug-addled.”

John hushed her softly. “You’re not mum, Harry. And you’re not alone.”

“Yeah? Then where’s Clara?”

John was silent at that.

Harry smiled triumphantly. “I walked out on her, you know. Didn’t wait for her to leave me. I wanted to be the one to leave that time.”

John simply held her hand and looked at her. There was nothing he could say.

“Tired.” Harry was starting to slur. “Can I go to sleep yet, John-boy?”

“Course, Harry. Rest up.”

Harry’s breathing evened out as she drifted off into sleep. John stared at her for a while before shifting in his seat to look at Sherlock.

“Not much for you to do here, sorry.” He said. “You didn’t need to come.”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. He felt like he had intruded, broken some sort of invisible boundary in listening to John’s conversation with his sister. But something told him he was right to be there with his friend.

“I’ll stay if that’s alright with you.” He looked at John.

John smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Sherlock simply nodded. “Have you gotten outside of this room in the last 48 hours?” he enquired.

John stared blankly at him.

“You should go take a walk, maybe take a shower and change your clothes.”

The corner of John’s mouth quirked up. He was clearly contemplating their role reversal. John was used to taking care of Sherlock while Sherlock was used to John taking care of himself.

“I don’t want to leave her alone.” He said at last. “She hasn’t got long.”

“You can shower and shave in less than fifteen minutes,” Sherlock pointed out. “The nurses could give you a set of clean scrubs to wear. And I’ll be here for the entire time for the slight possibility that she would wake up.”

John mulled it over for a moment before nodding decisively. “Thanks, mate.”

He stood up, stretching and shaking out his limbs to get the blood moving in them again. A quick word to one of the nurses outside and he was quickly given a change of clothing and a disposable razor. Before closing the door to the room’s bathroom he smiled gratefully at Sherlock again.

Eleven minutes later, John was back looking a bit more like himself. One the way to his chair, he reached out and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock simply looked up and nodded.

They sat and waited together for the minutes to go by while the dying woman slept.

Harry stayed asleep for some hours. When she opened her eyes, she squinted at John. “Johnny. Why’re you here?” She blinked and looked down at herself. “Where am I? I blacked out again.”

John took her hand again. “You’re very sick, Harry. You’re in the hospital.”

“What’s wrong with me, then?” She demanded.

“Your liver has shut down. You’re in the last stages of liver failure.”

Harry didn’t seem to be listening. “Got a drink on you, Johnny?” She asked. “I’m in a right bit of pain right now. Stomach hurts.”

John reached over and pushed the call button on the bed. “We can ask for some more pain killers.” He said. “It’s about time for your next dosage, anyway.”

“Don’t want narcs.” Harry complained. “Don’t do that heavy stuff anymore, Johnny boy. Haven’t since mum died.”

John nodded. “I know, Harry. I’m very glad to hear that.”

The nurse came in and switched the bag in Harry’s I.V. Harry watched the nurse with a scowl on her face.

They sat in silence for a while.

“Johnny?” Harry said at last.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I’ll see mum where I’m going?”

John was silent for a moment. “Do you want to?” he asked.

Harry seemed to think about it. “Are there drugs there?”

“No, I shouldn’t think so.”

“So she’ll be sober?”

There was a catch in John’s voice. “Yes, I think she would be.”

“She was always mean when she was sober, wasn’t she?” She mused out loud.

“I don’t think she’ll be very mean.”

Harry seemed to think. “You know, we never saw her be happy when she wasn’t high. If she’s happy and sober, I want to see her.”

John squeezed her hand. “Then you’ll see her happy and sober.”

With that, Harry settled down. One of the machines started beeping loudly. A quiet nurse entered the room and gazed questionably at John.

He nodded at her. She turned off the alarm.

“Johnny?” Harry’s voice was quiet. “Is this it? Am I dying now?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Is Clara here?”

Before John could answer her, Harry continued. “Don’t want her to see me go. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Then she won’t.” John’s body was still, focused on his sister.

Sherlock stood up from his chair and lightly rested his hand on John’s shoulder.

“Johnny boy?” Harry’s words were slurring.

“I’m here.”

“Want a drink. Just a sip…” Her eyes closed and she stopped breathing.

John didn’t move a muscle. He sat and stared at her and kept holding her hand. Tears fell down his cheeks.

Minutes passed as John stared at the body that was once his sister and Sherlock stood with his hand on John’s shoulder.

With a heavy sigh, John extracted his hand from the loose grip and stood up. Sherlock didn’t know what to say.

John nodded to the nurse standing in the corner and left the room. Sherlock followed.


End file.
